It's Dark I can't See
by ninth-carousel
Summary: It's dark. No-one can see. No-one can see. It's all right, I can't see.  WINCEST


_An angsty two-shot. This is just Part I. Not sure when the next part will be posted_

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_It's Dark (I Can't See)_

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He feels so exposed and bare despite being covered and crushed against the alley wall. It's as though he's on display – like a circus freak – he can feel disapproving gazes following him and his every move; searing through him. The stares are all too knowing and perceptive for comfort. Sam wants to cower away from them, to hide and escape their scrutiny, but he can't, because they know and they won't let him get away with this – this thing he's doing. Mostly though, he can't escape because there's no one there. It's just him and Dean and an alley wall, and yet he can't shake the feeling that everyone's watching.

He can't stop himself from trying to peer beyond Dean's shoulder, searching for the disgusted glances which he knows should be there. And every time he looks, he finds no one; maggoty bins, the occasional street cat and the flickering street lamp remain to be the only witnesses. That should be enough to prove that no one's watching but the insistence of one thousand burning gazes remains.

It's a sort of never-ending paranoia; a consuming, overbearing feeling over something that's not even real except in his head; a constant nagging at the back of his mind. The worst part of it is that he_ knows_ it's non-existent, yet he can't seem to shake it.

It's better at night though. It's harder to pretend, to ignore, to avoid the truth in daylight. It shines and burns and is almost blinding in its immorality – the stares are stronger and Oh God it scorches; it sears with a hellish light that leaves Sam cowering and shamed and wanting to run and hide. Night casts them in shadows and seems to dull and hush and calm the burn of sin until it only smoulders with an exciting passion. The knowing eyes are blinded by the dark and suddenly Sam finds it easier to bow to his own desires; to open fully to his brother's as well.

In daytime though – it's usually the invisible, penetrating gazes of ordinary people. But other times he swears Bobby or Ellen or Jo gives him a look – a look that screams disgust and_ I know. You can't hide it._ Shame and fear bite and hiss at his heels and sometimes he's so close to just breaking down and screaming at them that he… he _something_'s for Dean. A something he can't quite place but knows oh so well he shouldn't feel or want or tell or indulge in. He knows it's sin – it doesn't matter if it's love or lust – either way it is wrong wrong wrong.

And it's driving him insane.

But then it's night and they're alone and Dean's hands are there; pulling him closer and further away from the stares. The sky blackens and light fades away as his impatient fingers tug at Sam's hair, neck and buttons. And slowly Sam forgets to care. He forgets to care about the stares, the paranoia, the shame, the utter wrongness of it all. His thoughts become crowded with _Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean_; leaving no room for doubts or remorse.

"Sam… Sammy." Dean whispers, hot rolls of breath trailing along Sam's neck like a ghostly hand tickling his skin. He feels exposed again but for a completely different reason. Then Dean's lips are against his throat - replacing the airy sensation with the strength of swollen lips, grazing teeth and a hot slick tongue - and all thought escapes Sam. The warmth intensifies and focuses on his adam's apple, lavishing it with attention and pleasure-pain that sends shivers ricocheting down his spine and leaves his chest heaving.

Sam's hands grasp the back of Dean's head, pulling him closer and forcing more devotion towards his neck. Dean's kisses and licks and bites start travelling down down down to Sam's collarbone and then his chest; leaving the flesh of his throat throbbing pleasantly and sending his blood rushing and heart thumping. Dean's fingers fumble with the buttons of Sam's shirt, shoving the material out of the way of his following mouth. Sam shivers under the contrasting feelings of hot breath and night-time air. Somewhere nearby a cat mewls.

Dean's tongue slips and slides against the smooth muscle of his chest and it's almost too much. Then Sam starts pulling Dean's head away and up and he leans down until they're nose-to-nose; both impatient and wanting. Their breath mingles as their eyes meet in the darkness; the stuttering shine from the lamp glinting off their lust-blown pupils. Their mouths clash in a burst of tongues, spit, heat and teeth. Sam's eyes flutter blind to the world around him. Their lips buckle and push against another as their tongues meet in battle and their teeth bump and grind. It's slippery and painful and all Sam can think is how good it feels.

Dean's mouth parts from Sam's, both of them gasping for breath. Their chests heave and brush another as their hearts compete in a race of speed. Sam's hands slip down to Dean's shoulders and grasp him close; Dean's hands slide across the planes of Sam's exposed chest and up his neck to tangle in the curls at the base of his brother's skull. Dean grins up at Sam; all crinkled eyes and shiny teeth. Suddenly Sam is very much aware of the fact he can see his brother.

He stares at Dean smiling at him; he's surprised by how easily he can see him. He thought it had been darker (_safer, hidden, obscured, completely veiled_) and an uneasiness washes over him suddenly. Sweat caused from something other than arousal slips down his back and his heart starts fluttering for a different reason. Memories of uncertainty, shame and fear cloud his mind as a badgering sensation of _Everyone can see_, drops like a rock into his gut.

Sam feels a rush of panic spread a tingling in the dimples in his cheeks all the way down to his curling toes; it squashes the dimples and forces his toes to unfurl. Dean's lips uncurl in response, his breathing pattern disjointed in the aftermath of Sam's fear. A moment of unsure tension builds between them. Dean stops, then lets his fingertips hesitantly stroke the soft spot of Sam's neck. They tangle deeper into the brown locks as his fingernails catch on the baby hairs there. Sam's eyes shut in pleasure and he hums, biting his lips still in insecurity. Sam knows his eyes are shut, and that in reality it isn't pitch black, but that doesn't stop the thought of,_ It's dark. No-one can see _swirling sluggishly amidst his fears.

Dean's nails scratch soothingly and Sam starts smiling like a Cheshire full of milk.

Dean chuckles lowly; an electrifying mix of velvety smooth tones and harsh gravel that is enveloped in a blanket of utter_ Dean_. It does funny things to the rhythm of Sam's heart and though he's suddenly hyperaware of him and Dean – they – and what they're doing… _It's dark no-one can see. No-one can_ _see_ circles through his mind on repeat. It slips through his thoughts calming like a twisted prayer; fighting the building guilt and niggling at the back of his head. He can make out Dean leaning closer in the darkness – he's eyes glittering in lamplight – and then the thoughts and mounting paranoia are banished once more.

Pushing forward, Dean attacks Sam's exposed skin; assigning burning marks and a path of heat under the drop of each kiss and leaving Sam's mind reeling with want and lust. Dean's assault and Sam's retaliation sears and roughens with the smash of their bodies – hands rough and bruising to already scarred skin, as the scrapes from fingernails add to the litany of old and new cuts on marred flesh.

Their jean-clad hips meet and bump, expelling loud grunts from both. Their movements become more unco and crazed as they rock jerkily together. Their rhythm is non-existent - burning bodies too completely preoccupied by passion and primal needs – and they bump almost painfully. It's excruciating in a satisfying way; full of friction and desperation.

Sam's hands slip under the lift of Dean's shirt, scrubbing the damaged flesh before sneaking around to his navel; fingernails catching as they rake down Dean's heated belly and play with the trail of hair. Dean groans and bites harshly at Sam's shoulder. Sam moans low in his throat and scratches up his brother's stomach. Their pelvises meet and rub and grind once more; strengthening the coiling and pulsing heat there. Dean forces himself closer into Sam; slipping a thigh between his brother's and shoving him firmly against the wall. Sam's back grazes painfully against brick. Their sin resounds around the alley as a symphony of grunts and pants and moans.

The uncoordinated pattern of drunken steps hobbles towards the alleyway. Noisy, uncensored chatter and raucous laughter spills from the lips of a group of shadows stumbling under the lamplight. Sam and Dean both struggle to hear anything apart from their thudding hearts and panting breaths. The group of intoxicated graduates stumble around. Dean rumbles a loud groan as Sam bites harshly at his lip. The dark figures notice, but their movements and voices are muted to the hunter's ears. The teens stop to hoot and whistle upon seeing the two brothers up against the alley; voices cooing and encouraging as they echo down the passage.

Sam's hands grasp Dean's arse as Dean rubs against him and he moans, uncaring about their audience. They attempt to ignore the teenagers, who continue to cat-call and taunt. Growing annoyed, Sam – while still locked in an intense kiss - flips them the bird over Dean's shoulder. The kids laugh louder and holler back but begin to stagger away; leaving the pair alone once more.

The only other interruption comes from the late night drag races speeding past the backstreet; their headlights scatter past the shadowed two before disappearing totally. The cats have disappeared and the sky is lightening with red – only a couple of twinkling stars remain - before the pair quieten down. The sun can be seen just reaching over the city buildings by the time they make it back to the Impala parked two blocks away.

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Sam jitters slightly next to his brother. His eyes stare straight ahead out the windscreen; face pulled into a frown and hair falling into his eyes. His balled fists clench and unclench in his jacket pockets. The brightening sky and burning ball shed a golden light that beams into the car. Sam finds himself trying to desperately flatten himself against the seat of the Impala; seeking out shadows and dark and hating his size more than ever. The weight of heavy stares seems to weigh down his shoulder as he hunches in his seat. He's acutely aware of Dean watching him, which only seems to add strength to the invisible glares.

He turns to look at his brother. Dean turns away. The tips of his hair glows with the light like a halo and the line of his throat simmers enticingly with the warm hue. The sunshine is burningly bright and he squints against it and looks away, but not before catching a glimpse of Dean's expression. His brother's face is also pulled into a frown and suddenly Sam feels that he belongs in the darkness more than ever.

Turning on the stereo, ACDC floods the car barely breaking the mood; Sam still can't look at Dean, the car is still too bright and Sam's stomach still clenches unpleasantly with guilt and shame. Dean starts the engine and says "Let's find a diner" over the loud throng of music. He never once looks over to Sam. They drive off in search of breakfast with Sam resisting the urge to itch the unrelenting burning on his skull. It isn't until night falls that they talk to each other again.

The hotel room falls into complete darkness and the mood is subdued as Dean switches the television off. Only their heavy breathing can be heard. Sight is lost and replaced with twisting figures dancing tauntingly along the walls and floors; stretching between the small space between them – goading Sam. The burning glares dim and his guilt is chained down with darkness and shadows. Sam turns and latches onto his brother's shirt and pulls him into a kiss. _It's all right, it's all right, it's all right _permeates his thoughts with relief and freedom and calms his inhibitions; leaving only a smouldering passion behind in the aftermath of the hellish glow.

Their tongues meet and swirl and begin to dance.

_It's dark._

Dean's hands grasp Sam's waist, hauling him closer.

_no-one can see._

Sam's hands unclench and slip up to the buttons of Dean's shirt.

_no-one can see, _

Pop, pop, pop. Dean's shirt slips from his shoulders.

_no-one can see._

Click, click, click. Sam's zipper rasps on the way down.

_It's dark._

Their hot breath mingles and burns equally heated skin.

_no-one can see._

Sam's eyes flutter shut, blinding him completely to the world around him.

_It's dark. I can't see_.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


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